they....

where did we find time to write and believe we were
poets..
dreamers..
more then the graffitti etched on childhood walls
and now in age the bus station dialogues
my shopping list finds in the cages of the snake
of carts meshed together
does my script look as interesting

i found typewriters lonely and black
grey and misplaced on the lawns
of summer sales
got them running....idling works and
words through ribbons and blank pages
before this internet became the rage

Picture of the trenches and the after effect during the 1914 -18 war

Why Me

Why did he look at me so
just his eyes and head
laying in the wet snow
a reality of this war?

How did I come to be
here so that I could see
such horror of my friends
their death untimely ends?

Clouds rolled raggedly in
the gas took many away
how could man learn to pray
God was not with us today.

Hi everybody. I finally got around to submitting some of my scribbling to a publisher for inclusion in 2 books of various poets. To my shock there are going to be three of my poems in one book and six in another. I have ya'll to thank for this due to a lot of what I've learned here as well as everybody's support . I thank you all.
One of the books is "The Joy of Rhyming Poetry" which is coming out soon and the other is "The Elegance of Rhyming Poetry" which will come out this summer.

Poet

Writing piece's young poets
That helps someone is a great honour.
That you wander with your thoughts as a butterfly
Flitting from flower to flower
Attracted by the light of creation then sipping of nectar.
Go well young traveller
Your sojourn is a complete thing in its own rights.
Let dreams festoon your ways with love and compassion
Letting loose all thoughts of self
Wander within the realms of beauty
Then beauty will be yours..

Who would be in favor of some type of monthly contest?

للشاعر ايليا ابو ماضي
By Ilya Abu Madi. A Lebanon Imigrant Poet
http://vocaroo.com/i/s1JJCMiKq83a

because someone needs too.
I've been absent from feedback for a while due ill health and general apathy, that seems to be not just me but Neopoet. Jimmypringle was an arsehole but he was exactly what we needed. He is what I used to be. Otherwise we are are all playing the soggy biscuit game.
Come quickly and eat the soggy Sao. Poets can be such self indulgent wankers. And by the way, that game makes men come quickly and be lousy lovers. If there were a female equivalent it would work the same.

"Night after night, I lie down cold
in that life again, where nothing has changed
in the opaque stillness, the dry sound of insects,
smell of swamp musk and lime.
If I could only let the darkness cover you,
a kind of coat but penetrable,
a way water is a garment
opening its arms to hold you
and hold you, until your face is the swamp’s face
and there is nothing left to understand."

I have missed some really great poetry over the last few weeks, I will be around tomorrow reading and leaving any suggestions I can offer its nice to be back again :) If you want a hand with anything just leave me a message or PM me

kind regards and love Jayne-Chloe